


Hand Job

by dragonofdispair



Series: Unrelated Prompt Responses [29]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Manicures & Pedicures, Prisoner of War, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: tf-rare-pairing weekly prompt: Knockout/Starscream — well manicured</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand Job

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to FHC_Lynn for the title.

Starscream woke in an Autobot interrogation cell. Blasted Predacons. He didn’t even know what he’d been traded for. Energon most likely. Or access to the Well so that Predaking could make even more of his disturbingly overpowered, feral brats.

Well… really it was a _Decepticon_ interrogation cell, but since the _Nemesis_ had been captured then it really amounted to the same thing. Instead of suspended in the middle of the room, he was strapped to a berth that had once been a medical berth (this he knew, because he had installed the thing) before all the various restraints and torture tools had been installed. It was frank, stark and frightening.

It was a standard interrogation tactic to make the prisoner wait. Let them contemplate his impending fate in the dark. So he was a bit surprised when the lights flipped on and the door opened only a minute after he woke up. 

“Good morning Starscream,” Knockout said from the door and Starscream hissed. He should have expected as much. Soundwave’s report on the Autobots’ feeble attempt at ‘interrogation’ had made it clear than absolutely none of them had the gears for any sort of torture. The _traitor_ on the other hand… well, Knockout certainly had few enough morals, even for a Decepticon. The sadist.

Slag if he, _Starscream_ , would admit to any sort of fear. “Good morning, Doktor. I would greet you _properly_ , except I seem to be a bit… tied up at the moment.”

Knockout came over to the berth and began laying out his tools. “See, that’s what I love about you Starscream. Your snark. I love that in a mech.” 

“Well I do aim to please.”

The red mech’s smile fell off his face as he looked over his “patient”. “Yuck… your finish is absolutely atrocious. We are going _have_ to do something about that soon.”

“Oh why bother,” Starscream responded airily, knowing just how much the scratches and scuffs really did bother the other Decepticon, “Torture’s a bit hard on the finish anyway. I wouldn’t want you to be… inconvenienced by more _work_.”

Instead of the sadistic grin he’d expected — that he’d _seen_ before — when he got to this stage of the interrogation, Knockout just looked serious. “You obviously have some misconceptions about why you’re here, Starscream. _Autobots_ have rules about the treatment of prisoners, and it’s not like you have any information of value to us anyway, with the war being completely and utterly _over_. So I’m just here to fix you up, disable your T-cog, and all that other icky stuff before you’re transferred to a prisoner of war camp with the rest of the Decepticons who wouldn’t stand down.” Now he got a sadistic grin. “Still want to pass up what may be your last decent polish before being put to hard labor?”

It was… entirely unlike Knockout to pass up a chance to torture a prisoner, even a little. And it’s not like he _wanted_ his T-cog disabled again. He shuddered at the mere thought. However, if the doctor’s offer was genuine… and Starscream knew it was. Knockout abhorred dull plating and scratches with the sort of obsessiveness that was almost a pathology. “Fine. You _may_ do as you like.”

“Of course _Lord_ Starscream.” Like he actually needed Starscream’s permission. The Autobots rolled their optics, but he polished them too, when he could pin them down long enough, so they just shrugged their shoulder-kibble and accepted his particular brand of crazy. He brandished a small, thin file. “I think we’ll start with your hands. Claw maintenance is _essential_ , you know.”

.

.

.

end


End file.
